


The Luckiest

by Likiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Episode Tag, Episode: s06e22 The Man Who Knew Too Much, Episode: s07e01 Meet the New Boss, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:26:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likiel/pseuds/Likiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam never thought of himself as an humble man when he told people that he was lucky. It's the truth. Okay, he didn't have a mom. Later, his father died. He never had a home. But Sam knows that a lot of people get worse than that, so he figures that he's lucky enough. But if you ask him, he will tell you with a shy smile that he's not just lucky. He's the luckiest. Since his seventh birthday and now, nothing had changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Luckiest

**Author's Note:**

> TItle: The Luckiest.  
> Author: [info]likiel  
> Disclaimers: Sam & Dean ain't mine, but they want to be.  
> Rating: G  
> Paring: None, it's Gen.  
> Words: 1,515  
> Notes: Shmoopy alternative scene of season six's finale and season seven's beginning. I wrote this such a while now. I was going to delete it but you know... I figure what the hell, it's christmas. Enjoy. Thanks to [info]zenamydog who beta it, like I said, a while now.

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Cold blue eyes.  Murderer blue eyes.  Inhuman blue eyes.

“I’m your new God…”  

A soft and yet so sick voice.

“A better one…”

A deliberately smug expression, like suddenly the world’s happiness and safety is resting in his fist.

Well, well, it’s been thrown it at him and he caught it, didn’t he?

"...So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord-… Or I shall destroy you."

He had no intention, none whatsoever, to sugar-coat the events here. Things needed to move, and to move fast. A whole new existence was about to start. Human-beings were fragile little apes. Once loved by his father and then ditched in the cruel and cold reality. And wasn’t that just like him.

This new existencewill be fresh and clean, for heaven, right now, marred by the remaining followers of Raphael, and the fools, like Joshua, who still have the audacity to think that his _Father_ was coming back.

As if.

But then again, everything was just perfect now. He was after all, the one who finally set things right. Things were finally where they were supposed to be.

A small whisper followed by a painful moan brought him back to the present.

It was coming from Sam.

 _“Ah Yes. Collateral damaged.”_ He mused.

 _“But then, again, what different does it make? He’s not the only one who’s suffering. I was suffering too to back then… it may even be a lesson of humility for him…”_

Castiel snapped out of his thoughts when he felt Dean’s eyes on him.

Fierce green eyes. Feral green eyes. Executioner green eyes.

 

 

 

Differents emotions were tearing at Dean Winchester’s heart.

Surprisingly, the most intense was disgust.

God? Really?

Was that was Castiel’s main goal, during those two years now?

Steal Papa’s tuxedo and jump on his thrown?

Jeez, Daddy’s issues much?

 _“How could I let it go that far?”_ wondered Dean, his eyes shifting to where his brother stood weakly.

 _“It’s my fault. I trusted Castiel with Sam, Christ; I called him every time I needed advice about the wall. I worked so hard to convince Death to do it… I paid dearly for it, I had to give up on Adam for it, and now…”_

Now Sam is in agony, standing, but burning. Focusing but trembling.

Living, but dying.

Because of Cas.

 _“Son of bitch!”_

Oh, he was going to profess something, alright.

 

 

Bobby was too old for this shit.

No really, Castiel, God? That boy didn’t even know how to use the microwave.

But then, here hewas, eyes wide open and creepily shining, with a frigging smirk on his frigging face, looking far too smug for Bobby’s liking.

And apparently, for the boy’s too.

One look at Sam told Bobby all he needed to know. That he was barely holding it together, but Sam was far stronger than anyone gave him credit for.

He could see that he was in pain. A lot of it.

And that he was reaching for Dean’s  support. A lot of it.

And suddenly it struck Bobby like a shotgun.

 _Dean._

Slowly, he turned his head and looked toward Sam’s big brother.

He shivered.

 

 

 

Sam was having a memory of his childhood. He was seven years old. He was a big boy, at sevenand his dad didn’t let him get away with the stuff he used to get away when he was six.

Seven was a big step.

‘A frigging jump’ like Dean said. Yep, at seven, he was now, officially not a child anymore, but a _kid_. Yeah, Dean told him there was a big difference between the two denominations, that _child_ was for the crybabies, those who still needed diapers, and pacifiers, and thumb sucking, and… well baby’s stuff. But _Kid_ means that he still ought to be the cutie chubby little boy, but in the mean time he got to watch and learn how to play in the grownups world.

“That sucks” had been the watery response that Sam gave to his big brother.

The eleven years old Dean just chuckled and soothed:

"But kids keep the right to get bedtime’s stories and crawl into their big brother’s bed, and to cry like a girl watchin’ Bambi or whatever, Sammy. So it’s okay, what do you say? ” ~~~~

“Can we still hug?” Sam murmured.

“Dude, it’s a pre-ro-ga-tive.”

“A, what?”

“Hugs are like… stuff for life Sammy. No matters how old you get, you never get rid of it, it’s like… your ridiculous fear of clowns.”

Sam squealed loudly.

And Dean had chuckled again, his little face was like blur of green sparkled eyes and happy freckles.

“Don’t worry Sammy I’ll protect you, I’ll hug it out of you!”

“Shut up, you big stupid jerk!”

“You love me, you grabby little bitch.”

…

Yeah. Sam remembered when he was a _kid_ , when he reached seven, because It was the first time he was beaten up by a bunch of bullies. They were at least twelve years old and they tried to steal his warrior’s monster cards that Dean had given him for his birthday.

Sam remembered crying like neverbefore, sobbing, trying to catch his breath and failing miserably. He remembered it clearly, because it was his first real beating, and when Dean showed up, the first time he saw that level of violence.

Dean threw the two boys kicking him, hard against the wall as he curled himself into a little ball on the floor.

He remembered Dean spinning around and delivering a ‘turtle ninja’ type kick in the third boy's stomach. It made him drop the cards.

He remembered Dean bending to beat the crap out of the fourth guy, the leader of the gang. He was one year older than Dean, but he still pounded his fists repeatedly into the teen’s face.

“You. Don’t. Touch. Sam. GOT. IT?”

And Sam remembered thinking: “he’s going to kill him.”

Truth to be told, at seven, instead of repercussions with the authorities, Sam was far more worried  about what their father would do to the both of them, if Dean killed the jerk.

Dean was doing this for him, and he was really hurt everywhere, and scared, and sad, and it was supposed to be _his birthday goddammit!_

He decided _tosay ' screw it’ already_ , and throw away the _kid_ ’s costume just for a moment, to become a _child_ again.

“ Dean… De… it hurts… It hurts…”

And yeah…

Just like that.

Dean forgot about the bloody mess under him and focused his attention on Sam. He, however, shoved the cards in his pockets before made his way to his him.

Kneeling in front of Sam, Dean quickly, but carefully, lifted Sam from the floor and cradled him against his chest, carrying him like he weighed nothing.

“ Shhh… Shhh, Sammy, it’s okay. It’s okay now. Those assholes won’t make trouble ever again, baby brother. You’re safe… I’ve got you now… yeah, I’ve got you…”

 

Back then, in Dean’s arms, Sam felt so… warm.

So, so, so, warm.

So welcome and right.

Like everything he ever desired was suddenly there, but much brighter, colorful and more vivid than he ever expected it to be.

Like he'd actually had a mother all those years and a father who may eventually like him.

Like he was the most cherished person in the entire world.

The most beloved.

The luckiest.

Dean had made him feel this way. The seven year old Sam was completely overwhelmed by those feelings and just started to cry harder, but the pain wasn't that bad, anymore.

Or was it?

Twenty years later, and nothing had changed much, right?

Sam whispered unconsciously, as he tried to hold back a moan, _It hurts… Everywhere._

 

 

 

Sam can feel Castiel’s eyes on him, conscious that the… whatever the fuck he is now, is waiting for his answer. Preferably his surrender.

But none of that matters right now.

Because of all the sudden, Dean looked at him, **looked at him** like he had just revealed he was batman , bringing him pie or something.

And Dean was walking toward him.

Sam was vaguely aware of Castiel saying something. There was  an edge in his voice, and Bobby squirmed awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

But Sam doesn’t give a damn.

Because every part of him screamed for his brother, and he’s suddenly very aware of the century and a half he spent in hell, thinking about the blur of green sparkled eyes and happy freckles.

Then Dean reached for him, grabbed himand pulled him against his chest. Deanburied one hand in his hair, the other in the middle of his back.

And Sam… Sam…

Sam dropped his head onto Dean’s shoulder, trying to hide his face in Dean's neck, one arm circling his brother shoulders.

He pressed his mouth against the rough tissue covering Dean’s shoulder, and let out a muffled, broken scream.

“I know Sammy… I know… you can let it out now…" Dean pulled him closer. "I’ve got you, little brother… I’ve always got you…”

 

…

 

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